


Rise Up

by BastardSonOfDay (Diana_Raven)



Series: Bingo Prompts [1]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Gen, au where Feyre died, no rape but mentions of amarantha's abusiveness, poor little lucien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 14:43:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13033350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diana_Raven/pseuds/BastardSonOfDay
Summary: Prompt: DystopiaAU where Feyre died during the first taskLucien has pissed off Amarantha one too many times, and now he has to pay for it. Or would have to if Rhysand didn't try to help.





	Rise Up

**Author's Note:**

> Basically this series was a bunch of prompts and then after I wrote this prompt I thought... hmm... this could be a whole fic.
> 
> So think of this sort of a prologue for my future fic (Rise Up) and this is also part of my angst prompt bingo thing (not.. alll of which are angsty, spoilers i can write fluff just not in this specific fic)
> 
> [ User "Katniss" has translated this into czech if any of you are interested! ](https://www.wattpad.com/593725960-jednor%C3%A1zovky-povsta%C5%88-rise-up)

Rhysand swallowed thickly. To be honest he was surprised there was anything left of Lucien Vanserra, but Little Lucien was as hot headed as a child and as persistent as the seasons. This was the fifth time in the last three months that Lucien knelt before Her. She’d let him keep his second eye, so that he could watch as people (and sometimes he, himself) paid for his sins, and yet he _kept_ making them. His metal eye had been ripped from his head, it was mounted on her throne, as if a rare gemstone. It swiveled and swirled, as it was still some how connected to him, seeing whatever it saw.

“Again, Lucien?” Amarantha tsked. She tapped a manicured finger against her chin. “I’m starting to think we should make your cell permanent.”

Lucien glared at her defiantly with his remaining eye, a fire burning inside.

“What? No cute comeback?” Amarantha crooned. A sadistic smile began to light up her face. “Ah, that’s right!” She turned to the arm of her throne and picked up a thick piece of rotting tongue off of a spike decorating the chair. It crawled with maggots and flies buzzed around her hand. Rhysand had spoken to her about it on multiple occasions, but she wanted to keep it until it was no more. “Your punishment for the last time you pulled something like this. Really, Vanserra, someone should teach you manners. I blame your father, really.”

Rhysand saw Lucien’s jaw tense.

“What to do… what to do… You know Lucien, I actually like you. Maybe it’s because I see myself in you… see you in me...” She smirked. She loved the flaunting, the show. “See you... in me...” The words rolled across her tongue and Lucien, to his credit, didn’t flinch. “That’s just it… isn’t it?” She waved a hand dismissively at Rhysand and his stomach dropped into his knees.

No.

No no no no no no _no no no-_

“Rhysand, darling, you’re dismissed from your duties tonight. It seems I will have to tame Lucien’s fiery spirit myself. And maybe...” She looked down at Lucien’s lap, then dragged her eyes back up to his face. “Take away some of his toys.” _no no nO NO NO NO NO_ -

Lucien’s mouth opened slightly in shock, his breath came faster in what could have been frantic. _NO NO NO NO-_

“Amarantha.” The word fell from Rhysand’s mouth before he could think about the repercussions. He hoped, at the very lest, it sounded stony.

Amarantha stilled and the air turned to ice. “Yes?” The question was almost innocent. Almost.

“I’d-miss you tonight.” Rhysand said. _Mask on. Mask on. You’re nothing but a mask. This is an act, play the part._

“That’s sweet darling, really.” Amarantha said in a low voice, just for Rhysand to hear. Just for the chill to crawl down his back. “But I’m sure you could find someone to spend time with.”

“Please.” Rhysand whispered, barely able to get the words out. In for a penny, in for a pound. Lucien’s eyebrows raised just slightly.

Rhysand bent over Amarantha’s throne, his mouth sucking on Amarantha’s ear. “Please.” He said again, only for her to hear.

A grin curled at Amarantha’s blood-red lips. “I do like to hear you beg.” She hummed.

Rhysand took the hint. He dropped to his knees, carefully, slowly bending ‘til he reached her shoe. “Please.” He whispered, kissing her toes. He moved up slightly kissing her again. “Please.” Rhysand could could feel her eyes on him as he moved up Amarantha’s body, pleading all the way. Amarantha was glowing in the limelight, he knew from experience. She sure did love an audience.

“Please.” He begged her when he reached her knee, nipping at the skin. He felt her involuntarily tense. Good, if she was tensing like that he wouldn’t have to do this much longer.

“Please.” He breathed when he reached as far up as her hemline would go, licking the edge.

“Please.” He begged as he pushed his fingers inside her hitting all of her favorite spots first, so he could stop doing this.

He could feel their embarrassment. He flashed into one of the voyeur court members minds, picking a random High Fae. Thankfully none of the other ex-High Lords. Through this Fae’s eyes he checked in on Lucien, who’s face was turned away… for privacy?

Rhysand slipped out of the Fae’s mind, this was too painful to _do_ much less _watch._ Rhysand waited until her eyes fluttered closed and she let out a long deep sigh. Slowly. Rhysand pulled his fingers out of her (he’d had enough practice to retract them not so fast as to ruin her euphoria, which could be every dangerous to anyone around her), “please,” he whispered once more.

Amarantha’s eyes fluttered open and she stared at Rhysand, waiting. She wanted to see how far he would go.

In for a penny…

Rhysand brought his slick fingers to his lips and licked them clean.

Amarantha stood, brushing down her skirt. She knelt down to Lucien’s level, twirling a strand of his red hair between her fingers.

“Say thank you, Little Lucien.” Rhysand froze. _How did she know that nickname_? “Rhysand just saved your...” She paused looking at his lap, pointedly, “littler Lucien.” Amarantha grinned. “I supposed that means you own him.” She stood briskly, waving a hand, and Lucien Vanserra was dragged away.

* * *

Rhysand walked into the jail cell. He never got to see it when Feyre… when she was alive, and since she’d died… well Rhys hadn’t want to been reminded of what… could have been.

Lucien jumped, wincing as he did. He stared at Rhysand. His eye flicked back and forth, taking Rhysand in. The little amount of light from the open door glinted on Lucien’s mask.

Rhysand took a step forward. Like a vacuum Lucien’s walls fell away. Rhysand was bombarded with one sentiment. **Back.**

Rhysand stumbled from the force of the thought. Lucien stared at Rhysand, daring him to get closer. Rhysand sorted through the information that had flooded from behind Lucien’s walls, regaining his footing. It had been so long since Lucien had dropped his walls. Centuries.

 **Why are you here?** Lucien thought at him.

“I wanted to check on you.” Rhysand said softly.

Lucien rolled his eye, his thoughts blasting loudly what he believed Rhysand could do with that concern.

 _Right, the mask._ Rhysand reminded himself, all Lucien saw was Rhysand’s mask.

“As appealing as that suggestion sounds, I think I’ll pass.”

Lucien made a rude gesture.

“I came to see you.” Rhysand said after a pause.

**Why?**

“Maybe that’s for me to know and you to find out.”

Lucien laughed darkly. **Of course, part of your cruel games. Why would I expect anything less? Tell Amarantha to fuck off.**

“You think I’m down here because of _Her_?”

**Oh so it was your idea to rub the salt in? My bad, your senses of humor are too sadistic to tell apart.**

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of _me_ making sure you didn’t have to-”

**What? Be at her mercy? Oh yeah, because this is so much better.**

“What did she do-?” The words slipped out before Rhysand could stop them. All that cut him off was the pain that Lucien threw at him.

Rhysand whimpered, his knees bending under the pain, but he stayed adamantly in the memory.

_Amarantha had taken her time. She’d dragged a nail against Lucien’s back, digging and digging into his back. Lucien wouldn’t scream. Only when her nails began scraping muscle did he occasionally cry out. She would heal him, then go back to her carving._

_Lucien lost time during then. Slipping in and out of his security mindset, where he went during the excess of time when she implemented her favorite punishments._

_When Amarantha was finished she left him in a pool of his blood and tears. She ordered the guards that no one was to see him until she came back._

_Lucien didn’t remember what happened next. He assumed he was asleep from the pain—shutting down. He heard her heels clicking on the floor, his body jumped into overdrive._

_Amarantha’s guards dragged in a full length mirror._

“ _I thought you might want to see it.” She’d said as the guards strong-armed Lucien into contorting (a feat he could never do alone with the searing pain radiating from his body) correctly to see. “It is your body after all.”_

_Lucien’s eyes roamed over the old lashing scars, Rhysand remembered them himself. Lucien had cried out to Feyre (the name still pained Rhys, everything had screamed to help her, to save her, to beg the other High Lords to. But he couldn’t. He’d had Velaris to think about), warning her about the oncoming Wyrm. She had listened, but her human reflexes were too slow, and she had been swallowed whole._

_What shocked Rhysand from the remembrance of his mate (the word stung) was what had been carved into Lucien’s back._

Rhysand threw up.

He was out of the memory, Lucien watched him hatefully.

That word…

 **Happy now**? Lucien snarled in his mind, like fingers raking over his brain.

“Lucien… I-”

Poor, poor Little Lucien…

 **How did she know about the nickname?** Lucien asked.

“I don’t know. I didn’t tell her.”

Lucien’s shields flew back up after flinging a single sentence at him. Black walls of anger which burned at the touch.

**Sure you didn’t,** _**whore** _ **.**

Lucien’s back flashed in Rhysand’s mind.

His anger and shame were understandable.

Lucien broke eye contact with Rhysand, a clear dismissal.

Rhysand wondered if they could ever be civil to one another, but with the word carved into Lucien’s back he was sure that was now impossible, if it hadn’t been before.

Rhysand left the room, thinking about what Lucien had been marked with.

On one hand, he was surprised that Amarantha would admit a breach of control like that, but on the other hand it made perfect sense. This was what would have eaten at Lucien the most. Then again, Amarantha had Rhys by the balls, so the word didn’t exactly reveal a lapse in power, though Lucien existing seemed to.

He had forgotten to thank Lucien, for continuing to fight even if he didn’t.

Though, he assumed, now with that word by extension he did in a way.

He could feel it whispered across his skin and it sent chills down on his body. He pulled his clothes closer around himself. As long as Lucien was fighting Her, defying Her, so was that word on his back, which meant so was he.

_Rhysand’s._


End file.
